Through the Drinking Glass
by tearsofbreakingglass
Summary: The Bad Friends Trio have been together through thick and thin, always with a glass of booze between them. A look at their intricate history from the War of Austrian Succession to modern times through the love of bars and pub crawls.


_The end of the War of Austrian Succession, 1748_

A pile of military jackets sat stacked in the middle of a round table. Their intricate designs and cloth was now splattered with a mix of sweat, blood, and beer causing a strange odor to emit from the table. None of the parties sitting around it noticed though. They were too high off of a post-victory sense of euphoria.

They were loud and rowdy, disturbing the peace. Of course none of the patrons or the owner had the heart to tell the brave soldiers to quiet themselves down a bit. Not when they were celebrating for protecting their respective countries from the threats of the British and Austrian Empires.

There were three that were louder, more uncontrollable than all the others. They were regulars here and everyone knew it was no point in trying to calm them for it only caused them to get more raucous. The apparent leaders voice could be heard over all the others in the pub.

"Alight, alight." Gilbert stumbled over his words. By now, he was well into his fifteenth drink and was slowly becoming more intoxicated with each sip. He would soon be incapable of stringing even a few words together coherently. "How fuckin' gorgeous was that pussy Austria's face was when he had to accept that Silesia was mein bitch?"

Despite what he said not being remotely funny, the three men broke out into hysterical laughter. Francis clapped while trying to catch his breath. When he spoke, he didn't sound much better off than the Prussian besides him. "The look on the limey though! That's what he gets for walkin' 'round like he's better than moi! Non - like he's better than us!"

The trio roared in laughter again. By now, it was getting to the point where courtesy might have to be forgone. All the other customers were beginning to be disturbed by their antics. Even the bartender was polishing the wood of the counter with a bit too much force and gritted teeth.

"Si, si. Me amigos, that was all great." Antonio was the most sober of them all. He was the last able to speak, not being much of a fan of chugging drinks down one by one. The Spaniard preferred to savor the flavor and bite that each sip contained. "But we're forgetting Hungary's look of shock at how weak her little boy thing actually is." He sighed dramatically whilst clutching a hand to his chest. "Dios mio, did I try to warn her, but she wouldn't listen. I swear on Isabella's grave."

Prussia looked mystified as he did every time Spain mentioned back to his rulings under the Hapsburgs. "I still don't get how you could've been with him." He smirked, an evil thought coming to mind. "I bet his gay arsch loved it. Probably tried grabbing at you all the time."

France, on the other hand, was in awe of his green-eyed friend. "How did you manage to get the Pope to approve? I asked him about the possibility of me and Arthur, but he threatened to excommunicate me."

All this talk about taboo subjects was the final star. The owner grabbed all three of them by the collar. He physically threw the meddlesome trio out, threatening to call the authorities if they weren't off his property in five minutes. He hollered that they were only permitted to come back if they could "wizen up" and learn to "drink responsibly."

They never returned.

 _The dissolution of Holy Roman Empire, 1806_

An excited, young Spaniard and his slightly older, obviously amused Frenchmen entered into a familiar pub on the border. Shockingly, it was decently packed for a Wednesday night. It seemed to be that most of the patrons had the mid-week blues.

"Mon ami, first rounds on me." France purred, thinking back to the events earlier this week. They flashed through his mind in quick succession causing him to chuckle in satisfaction. "It's been such a satisfying week."

Spain raised the glass freshly placed in front of him. "You finally stopped that little menace. Who was he anyway? 'Holy' something, always going after Veneziano..." Just then, it began dawning on him who it could've possibly been. His eyes widened in shock and a sense of fear for what would come. "A-Amigo...that wasn't _his_ brother?"

Francis shrugged lazily and flipped some blond hair out of his face. "Who even cares anymore?" Cockiness and something darker was etched across everyone of his facial features as he raised his glass. "Allies are interchangeable, it's defense against intruders that matters! Big or small, the French empire will defeat them all!"

This received loud cheers from about half the room. The other half, the Spanish half, looked bored or threatened by their neighbors. Antonio himself was in the latter category.

Ripples of national pride now spread throughout the room, causing the two nations to ignore an ominous presence lurking besides them. As France continued on with how great he now was, the scoff from the shadowy figure cut him off. The pair turned and who they saw made their stomachs lurch.

An albino with fiery red eyed and a hand twitching towards the hilt of his sword glared at them. "So you think you're some great military force because you killed a little kid?" Prussia spat down at the Frenchmen's feet. "I feel mein Bruder and Vader rolling in their graves."

Spain took a step back. He didn't want to get into this. Not tonight. France instead rose from his seat, never breaking eye contact with his ally turned challenger. "I see you're here to avenge that weak brother of yours." He smirked, a thought crossing his mind. "Did you care to learn how he begged and cried for mercy at my hand? Oui, that can be arranged."

Gilbert ground his teeth together as his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword. "With that attitude, you're just asking for me to senselessly beat you, in the honor of those lost of course."

He drew his sword as the other man in front of him drew his and uttered, "Of course." Just as the Prussian was about to lunge, a strange feeling came over him. He didn't know what it was, but he damn well knew who it was from.

The silver-haired man smirked to himself as he put his weapon away, much to the confusion of the opposing forces around him. "Nein. I may have been born to fight, but I'm better than this." While his words were spoken as clear as a bell, they were meant more for himself than anyone else. He locked eyes with his former friend and winked. "Next time we meet, it'll be on the battle field. Make sure to fight with honor this time around. It's what God would want."

The strange nation left as quickly as he came, laughing to himself the whole way home. Not once did he put a thought to what the other two might've gotten from his words.

 _After the final battle of the Franco-Prussian War, 1871_

Gilbert strutted into his favorite bar and plunked himself right down besides Antonio, who was desperately trying to ignore him. This amused the albino greatly. He became giddy, laughing with childlike glee.

"Oh! Get over yourself, 'Tonio! Francey-Pants knew he had it coming!" The Prussian laughed some more and slapped his friend hard on the back. Spain flinched before frowning in displeasure at the situation. This was the second time this century his two best friends were pitting themselves up against each other and for the second time, he was in between it. Lord, have mercy.

The brunette sighed in deep dissatisfaction. This was turning out to be one hell of a time period for him. He only hoped the next century would be better for him and all the world. "Francis is coming here. I just don't want you to bring me back into this unnecessary fight. I love you both, but no amount of cheer up charms can fix this." He swirled his drink around in it's glass and sighed once more. He needed better friends.

Prussia gave a dissatisfied grunt before turning his attention to his beer. He angrily thought about how Antonio said he wouldn't pick a side, but it was become more and more apparent that that was truly a bold faced lie. Gilbert was beginning to feel more like a used rag than an actual friend. Just as he talked himself up enough to leave, the last person he wanted to see walked in.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop and steely silence rang throughout. Francis slowly continued forward, never breaking eye contact. "Mon ami, the usual. S'il vous plaît." He lowered himself onto the other seat besides Spain. For someone who's clothing was torn and usually silky hair had knots in it, he looked smug.

Gilbert sneered as the Frenchmen approached. "It sucks when someone takes something of yours, doesn't it Frakreich?" He spat the German version of his former comrades name out. His tone was icy yet his eyes were fire. He made sure to push his coat jacket back so everyone could take note of the gun in his holster. Just so no French bastard would try anything funny.

France tried ignoring him, he really did. He was poor and his resources were all exhausted. It would be pointless to start another war over this. But getting a gun flashed at him while he was unarmed? That was crossing the line. He smirked, trying to keep his normal air of arrogance around him. "Stealing my land won't make Holy Rome come back to you." Seeing that his words had the desired wounding effect, he turned around and raised his glass. "But take my land, mon ami. The French never forget - go ask the British. We'll just come back for you and hit you with all we've got."

Antonio didn't want to be here for this. He quickly paid his tab and rushed to the door. If this was what his friendship were becoming well he...he'd just need to stick with the Italy brothers than and hope to make amends with these two clowns later. He stopped with one hand on the doorknob and looked back at them. "Will this ever end?" The Spaniard sighed before making his leave home.

Meanwhile, Gilbert had closed the space between them. The Prussian gripped the others collar tight, pinned him up against the bar counter with his revolver pressing hard into the blue-eyed man's abdomen. "If I were you, I'd learn some respect. You're a coward, you're weak. You rival the greatest armies in the world and you've been losing ever since Napoleon got fucked over in Waterloo. You know who did that? Me. Me and England." Prussia pushed the other man away and took a step back. He never lowered his gun. "So, please. Give me your worst. I'm the greatest military in the world. I'll crush you, Arschgeige."

France was frozen in complete shock. He didn't move when the Prussian left. He didn't move when the door swung shut. And he didn't move once the time it would've taken Gilbert to stalk off a meter away passed. He only moved once one thought kept repeating itself in his head.

He would show Prussia who was weak.

He would show the whole world what a coward really was.

 _Signing on the Treaty of Versailles, 1919_

Prussia sat, slumped over across the bar. "Free State of Prussia." He grumbled. "So lame. So unawesome. Just as unawesome as my land being taken away." As soon as the Allies officially released the terms of their peace agreement, he had rushed over here. After all, it seemed more like Germany's problem now than it ever was his. "Stupid Bruder. He took mein job."

If he hadn't already been hammered, he would've been bothered by France being here. But Antonio had made sure that both of them had gotten nice and tipsy before allowing them to catch sight of one another. Who said the Spaniard wasn't smart?

"Ah, mon ami, at least your stupid cousin is away from the girl now." Francis slung his arm over Gilbert's shoulder. The blond leaned into the albino in an attempt to stay upright. "I did you one favor, non?"

Spain jumped in. In times of great warfare and destruction like these, even he had to force his trademark smile. "You did us all a favor. Now he can finally get married to that piano he actually loves." For his part, he was still bitter over how little attention he received during his time as a Hapsburg. Some wounds heal slowly.

The Prussian nodded his head along to all of this. Was he in control of Germany anymore? No, he was just a German state. But the positive was he still had all his land and Ludwig let him do whatever. It was a great arrangement especially adding this on top of Elizaveta being singled up again. Who knows, the two of them might even restart their hunting trips together.

Gilbert looked at France and checked him out. Yes, this new revelation pleased him greatly. So much so that his drunken haze made him almost want to kiss his friend-turned rival-turned frenemy right here, right now. He didn't think that would fly though so he went with a very hard pat on the back. "You're a pretty big Arschloch and you've screwed me over for years, but Ich liebe dich."

Francis just roared in laughter and returned his friends affections. Antonio watched in a state of shock. This wasn't how he expected everything to go. But who was he to complain? Neither of them were arguing and seemed to actually be a lot happier they had been for the past four years. His smile turned genuine and his laughter joined that of the other two. "Si, I told you two everything thing would turn out alright in the end."

France and the new Free State of Prussia didn't appear to hear him though it didn't matter.

Things were beginning to look up.

 _Dissolution of Prussia, 1947_

Numb. That was the only feeling to describe it.

Gilbert sat in the farthest corner of the bar, staring emptily at the glass of beer shaking in his hand. This was not how his life was supposed to be. This was not how the war was supposed to end. Everything was going to be better for him. Everything was going to be returned to normal.

And then _he_ rose up.

A warm hatred rose up and bubbled throughout the former nation. Hatred for Austria, for allowing the little cretin to be born and thrive. For allowing him to live long enough to the point where Prussia was forced to respect his name. There was hatred for Germany, his very own brother, for blindly accepting this mans word as fact. For swallowing up his nation as part of the supposed fatherland.

And then, there was a deep sense of loathing for the Allies and the monster himself. How he could envision the little prick with his toothbrush mustache yelling, invading, and conquering. He could imagine how tickled the creep would be at him being split apart and thrown to the communist masses. The ruling of the Allies was the worst though. He kept hearing their decision ring loud and clear throughout his head.

"Dissolved." Gilbert whispered, not even aware of the fact that Francis had arrived now with Antonio shouting behind him.

France stepped up to the table. His head was down and his features were gaunt. He didn't look as ethereal as he normally did. He looked mortal and old, almost haunting. "Prussia, Gilbert." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I tried to get them do something-anything but this. I didn't...no one wanted for this to be the final outcome."

The albino jumped up at this and spat in the Frenchmen's direction. "Fuck you. None of this was my fault, yet I bear the repercussions? Nein. Dissolve Germany, dissolve Austria, dissolve any other Germanic state. But I'm just as much a pawn as anyone else was in the Gott forsaken war." His eyes were cold and he regarded neither of his two companions with any compassion. "Split Deutchland up and give half to Russia, huh? Make the Russian half mine? Nein. You all knew exactly what you were doing. The crime I'm paying for is unifying all the Germanic states and having a superior military back in the day."

With a heavy mind and heavier heart, he inched towards the door. He turned back and left them with cruel parting words before leaving into the night.

"Never talk to me again, cowards."

 _Berlin Wall destroyed, 1989_

This might've been the best day of Gilbert's life.

He couldn't stop crying and hanging onto Ludwig. He had truly believed for the last twenty-eight years that they would never be reunited. Now here they were, in the heart of Berlin going to a bar they had once frequented together.

One surprise along the way was seeing Austria come running down the street, with Hungary a pace or two ahead, both looking uncharacteristically thrilled to see him. It killed Gilbert to admit it, but the sight of them was more emotional than he wanted to admit.

The party of four entered and Prussia was faced with the biggest surprise of all. Francis and Antonio sat around looking anxious in the middle of the room. The same Francis and Antonio he had told just forty-two years prior to get out of his life. Regret and shame instantly pulsated through the man while he cautiously approached the table.

"How's mein favorite Arschlochs?" He sounded more nervous than he wanted to admit. The albino just hoped they weren't here to dump cold beer on his head and give him the lecture he rightfully deserved.

Spain was the first up. He embraced his friend right away, happy tears pouring out of his eyes. "Gilbert! Amigo, you're alive! And you still have all your eyelashes! I would've thought Ivan would've made them all fall off!" His delirium caused him to ramble. The Spaniard pulled Francis into the embrace, who had been standing around awkwardly before. "Francis, isn't it a miracle? Oh, we were all so worried! Welcome to democracy, my friend!"

France didn't start crying till his head was buried in his friends neck. It was silent and would've gone unnoticed had Prussia not felt the way the collar of his shirt now clung to him in certain patches. "Gilbert, I'm sorry. We've been putting each other through so much for so long yet I did the worst." He looked up and into his friends eyes. "I will leave you alone after this, we both will, if that's what you want."

And Gilbert seriously considered it for half a second. He thought how for the last forty-two years he didn't have to worry about either of them getting in his way. That it was just him prowling as a lone wolf while he tried to get up Elizaveta's skirt. He thought about how it was even sweeter without the hearing Roderich's piano playing waking him up at four am and then his brothers yelling waking him up at five. He thought about how much easier it would be on him to walk out and put all the blame back on the five parties that meant the most to him here.

Then he remembered how much moping around he did. How he couldn't go out drinking every night because he could no longer afford it and that it wasn't fun without his partners in crime. How he only played flute solos with a polite audience of other nations to occasionally listen instead of with a piano or violin accompaniment while Ludwig sat, listening in peaceful bliss. How he could always hit on Hungary, but now she'd be stronger to fight back and didn't that make it much better?

Prussia smiled and looked at them all. His gaze ending on his two moronic friends. "You know, I think everything's a bit more awesome with you two Arschgrobblers making it hell for me."


End file.
